


Jealous Baffoon

by mvtthewmurdvck



Category: Daredevil (TV)
Genre: Angst, Co-Workers turned Lovers, Co-workers, F/M, Friends to Lovers, Jealousy, Work Colleagues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-17
Updated: 2018-12-17
Packaged: 2019-09-21 11:09:24
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,151
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17042606
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mvtthewmurdvck/pseuds/mvtthewmurdvck
Summary: Promot: To write a one-shot inspired by the song “Jealous Buffoon” by Awolnation.





	Jealous Baffoon

Dex balled his fist up as he watched you laugh, your hand smoothing down your black dress—his sight falling down your curves, exactly like the man opposite you did.

Erik Stanford, the  _mission_. 

Dex  _despised_  the man, and he didn’t really know him. Not that he needed too, he was a criminal, a crook, wrapped up in Hell’s Kitchens worst the city had to offer. 

You were assigned the case first, and even if Dex knew you would be safe and extremely talented, he hadn’t been able to relax. Not for the entire briefing, and his feet had thundered towards Hattley. He didn’t ask, he ordered. Dex was close to demanding, the vein in his throat sticking out of his neck as he pressed his index finger down on to the podium. He couldn’t let you go in alone; it’s what he told himself as Hattley eyed him suspiciously. 

It was a simple information extraction you had told him, your fingers twisting the end of your ponytail as you stared down at the floor map of the gala. You were supposed to ask him about his business, about shipments and distract him enough to retrieve them without force, not that you were against such things. 

Dex liked that about you, how  _fearless_  you were. 

You were also the first person that partnered with him through choice, “ _Your qualities aren’t as irritating as the others, Poindexter_.” You had said it with a smirk, your tongue tracing your lips as you holstered your gun, “But don’t let it get to your head.” He had laughed, handing you the bulletproof vest. “ _Never_ ,” he had replied dryly.

That was months ago, and now they were here, and he couldn’t stop himself staring up and down your body, hating how Erik seemed to do the same. Dex couldn’t unclench his jaw. He couldn’t unwind himself, not when he watched this man flirt  _outrageously_  with you, wondering if you liked it.

Wondering if you  _wanted_  Erik to do it more.

It made him want to pull out his gun and shoot the idiot straight between the eyes. But he couldn’t. 

He  _wouldn’t_.

Dex drained the rest of the glass, biting the inside of his mouth as he wondered if you liked  _people_  flirting with you. The way the people in  _this_  room looked at you, the way they leered as you smiled and made conversation, Dex was sure it happened a lot. Too much for his liking, especially with the fools, you both worked with. They practically fell over you; it made his blood boil. 

Dex’s hand began to rub the back of his head, nursing his empty glass with his free hand as he kept both eyes on you through the mirror. Even if he thought it was distasteful, Dex rather liked that all New York bars had the same cliche backdrop behind their spirits—it meant he had eyes on you, his eyes, not just the cameras that were there to keep you both safe.

His eyes were safer for you. 

“Top up,  _Sir_?”

Dex met the smiling bartender shortly, giving a tight-lipped smile as he shook his head, not averting his eyes from you.

Erik, the man  _you_  were attempting to swindle information out of, placed his hand on the base of your back as he led you to the window, and the glass in Dex’s hand nearly shattered over him. If it did, he knew exactly where he’d stick a shard of it, straight between the leering eyes of the man beside you. Not before he’d have fun, enacting every horrible fantasy Dex had thought up since he saw Erik’s eyes widen at the sight of you. 

Even if Dex wanted too, he couldn’t get you out of his mind. He thought about the time you were training together a month ago, when his body had hovered above yours, breathing laboured as you tried to wiggle free. Dex knew you hadn’t tried hard enough, taunting you with that statement before you pressed your lips to his. “Sorry,” you lied with a wistful smile, distracting him enough to flip him on to his back. You had strutted away, a winning smile on your face as you threw him a water bottle. “Shouldn’t get so distracted, Poindexter.” 

He hadn’t stopped thinking about you since.  

Dex really hadn’t.

Dex  _suspected_  he was jealous. You were giving Erik attention and yet avoiding him.  Dex wasn’t fantastic with emotions, especially ones that weren’t the usual ones he experienced. He tried to replay Dr Mercer’s voice—her calm, attentive tone, just so he wouldn’t fly into a white rage as you moved your hair from your neck, laughing over something Nadeem said in the office. Especially when Nadeem  _wasn’t_  funny. 

He forced himself to remember this was just a mission, placing the glass down on the bar as he wiped the corners of his mouth.

Dex also knew you meant something to him, even if it wasn’t clearly defined exactly what that was. He just knew you were special, different. You never thought he was odd, and your own brand of dry humour had caught his attention the day you started. Dex hadn’t also failed to notice how beautiful you were, and he hated that you had been hand-picked for this particular mission because of it.

Tapping his fingers against the bar, he glanced over, watching your face turn stony. Dex waited for the sign, tracing the rest of you, ensuring there was no scratch or mark as he watched Erik’s grip on your arm tighten. Dex used a hand to wipe his face, praying someone stepped in, that comms would kick in and force her to extract herself. They didn’t, and he yanked his earpiece out before stuffing it into his pocket. 

Dex’s eyes had hardened to the point of pins as your eyes eventually met his, and he considered briefly if you had felt his stare since he had arrived. Especially when he had needed to be here after you, not wanting to raise suspicion. 

He briefly reflected on whether you could feel his  _jealousy_ ; if you could tell what you did to him.

Then he caught your nod, a brief twitch as he moved from the chair, watching as Erik’s neck had turned red and his eyes full of fire as he whispered hurriedly at you. 

Dex ran a hand through the front of his hair. He  _knew_  his nostrils would be flared, his ears raging with annoyance as he turned on his heels, making a beeline for you.

_‘Clean extraction, Dex. You go in only if Agent Y/L/N is in danger. Got it?’_

He’d make it  _clean; h_ e’d make it believable, he thought as he walked past a table, grabbing toothpicks. 

_‘And you, Agent Y/L/N. No funny business. If you get the information or you become uncomfortable, you nod towards Agent Poindexter. Understood?’_

Dex’s arms moved robotically with him, tension hammering through his muscles, voices screaming in his head, but he focused on you—your eyes, your blushing cheeks. People began to part, and he knew he was possibly messing up the whole mission, the structure breaking apart like people walking through spider webs.

Erik suspected something, worsened just as Dex reached you, and Erik— _the mission,_  that in Dex’s opinion didn’t need to be alive anymore—asked Dex if he had a problem. 

Dex could have responded.   
He could have told him to shut up, but he didn’t. 

And Dex  _didn’t_  act professionally.

Or someone who had their shit together.

Dex acted the  _complete_  opposite. He was irrational, powered by anger and jealousy, and he towered over you, but you didn’t show fear. Not an  _ounce_.

“Ben?” you spoke, “You ca—“

The plan. Your plan. 

Dex was the lover, the husband or boyfriend who would come to save you. 

He was playing the part too close, but his fingers twitched with the need to feel your skin—a desire to taste the champagne on your lips. 

‘ _If you knew what you do to me, Y/N_ ,’ Dex answered with his eyes, before he crashed his lips to yours, grasping your hip, running his thumb over the skin-tight fabric as you whimpered against him.

“Sorry I’m late,” Dex whispered darkly, your eyes dilated, lips still parted. He turned his head, staring directly into the man with a menacing smile. “Did you make a friend,  _darling_?”

He felt you move closer to him, and a pang of annoyance flooded through him—was you following with _the plan_ , or doing this because you wanted too? He suspected the former, a pang of regret and idiocy crashing over him as he forced himself not to push you away. You were still in danger, after all. 

“I did,” you said sweetly, running your fingers over his cheek as he tried not to enjoy it, tried not to curl into your warm touch.

Dex allowed his eyes to meet yours, seeing a softness in them he never usually saw. “Want to get out of here? I still have that reservation?”

It was the question, the  _plan_ —the prompt that released them from their  _contracted_ mission and forced the extraction—but Dex asked it with a sincerity he knew he didn’t need. He watched as your features softened, your head tilting to the side as you studied him, and Dex hated how he didn’t know what you were thinking.

If you would leave him the moment you got outside the building and into the car; he wondered if you would ever speak to him ever again after what he had done.

Then whether you really wanted the mission? Or if you wished the target had kissed you and not him. 

Even if you ate lunch together and Dex made you laugh, would you want him? Especially when he wrestled with his demons and stared at you from across the bar as if he owned you. 

Even when Dex had kissed, and meant every second of it—

“Yes,” you breathed, wrapping your arm behind his back. “I’ve had a quite an evening,” your head turned to the stunned man beside you, “Mr  _Stanford_ , it was a pleasure.”

An excited shudder ran down Dex’s spine, feeling you turn him as you led the way. The two of you didn’t break from your hold, looking the part of _the romantic couple_ all the way to the car. He expected you to rip him a new one when you got inside the car, he braced for it, fingernails digging into his palms as he tried to control his anger, not wanting to fly off the handle when you raised your voice. Because you would. He crossed the line, but he didn’t regret it. 

And he would say as much. 

Dex, even now with you safe and beside him, wanted to go back inside and throw the bastard out of the window for even looking at you.

But you didn’t raise your voice. You didn’t even shout. 

You  _did_  the opposite.

You pulled your dress up to the top of your thighs, throwing your leg over his waist as your lips met his, furious and hungry. Dex, relaxed his hands, slowly peeling them from his palms as he brushed his hand against your thigh, feeling you tense slightly. You rolled your hips against him, and he moved his hands, clutching the sides of your face, holding you close to him.

“I’ve thought about nothing but this since I left you on that floor, Poindexter.”

He grinned against your lips, his fingers tracing your spine at the top of your dress. “Is that so?”

“You made tonight _difficult_ ,” you breathed against him, biting down on his bottom lip. “Staring at me, I could feel your eyes burning through my dress.” 

Dex smirked. “Well, maybe I was _really_ jealous.”

You laughed nervously. “Yeah, no shit. I could feel that from across the room. If we had been at a zoo, you would’ve still been the only elephant there.”

“I think we may have compromised the mission,” he sighed, watching you move back into your seat, pushing your hair from your face, chest rising and falling quickly.

It bothered him that you had, his job, the structure, it meant something to him. Of course, it did. But you, with your wild eyes and heart-stopping-smile, possibly meant something more. 

Your lips grew into something wicked, the same grin he saw when you cracked a case or came up with the idea that put the rest of the team to shame. 

“He’s got a shipment coming in tomorrow,” you said confidently, buckling yourself into your seat. “I can be very persuasive. I also may have told him that I worked for another player in Hell’s Kitchen.” 

Dex brushed your hair behind your ear, shaking his head in disbelief. “Your good,” he chuckled. 

“Oh, I  _know_.” 

**Author's Note:**

> This is an archived piece originally posted on the tumblr, [mvtthewmurdvck](https://mvtthewmurdvck.tumblr.com/).


End file.
